Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Amelia brushed a cobweb from a chipped teacup, then continued sifting through the boxes. She’d been at it all morning, a slow, deliberate process, each object receiving its due consideration. A wave of contentment settled over her as she found a small, leather-bound diary from her teenage years. Flipping through its pages, she came across a folded letter, its ink faded with age. It was addressed to her own mother.

She sat on a dusty trunk, unfolding the brittle paper. The words were a cascade of teenage angst, a plea for understanding she never mailed. A smile played on her lips as she read her younger self's impassioned declarations. The words, so full of longing, now seemed a little funny. She gently tucked the letter back into the diary, a sense of gentle amusement filling her.